Page 53 of A Whisper in the Shadows

“I see.” Thetford exhaled, then pressed his lips together. “There is some discrepancy about the entrance fee charged then, and there is no documentation to determine the truth of the matter.” He returned his attention to Mrs. Cardy. “What of theweekly dues, Mrs. Cardy? How much did Mr. Cardy pay and to whom?”

“That Eaton fellow came and collected it every Sunday—four pence,” Mrs. Cardy replied. “I took on extra sewing and even some washing to pay for it.”

“That is also twice the usual amount,” Furnier interjected. “Our records show he paid tuppence every week.”

Tilda wondered if the records to which Furnier referred could be the ledger Hadrian had seen when he’d touched Phelps’s desk.

Mrs. Cardy uncrossed her arms and turned her body toward Furnier, her face flushing. “’E shouldn’t ’ave been paying anything since ’e wasn’t even supposed to be a member! The society needs to pay us back!”

Furnier clenched his jaw and sat back in his chair, fixing his gaze straight forward.

“Unfortunately, we are not here to discuss what may or may not be owed,” Thetford said regretfully. “I am trying to determine who may have killed Mr. Phelps, and I’m sorry to say, Mrs. Cardy, that you have the best motive of anyone. However, I am not sure you had the means or the opportunity to do so. It is my understanding that you were at home with your daughter the last night Mr. Phelps was seen alive. We did not ask her to come and confirm this, but she has done so to multiple people. Do you swear that is the truth?”

“I do,” Mrs. Cardy said, her eyes wide. “I ’ave five children, and I would not ’ave left them late at night to do anything.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cardy. I am very sorry for your loss.” The coroner turned and faced the jury. “I think you will easily find that Walter Phelps was murdered by a blow to the head with a brass candlestick—one of a pair—that is now missing. He was killed sometime between ten o’clock in the evening and four o’clock in the morning. Several people might have wished himdead, and you’ve heard from some of them today. Of particular note is the potential fraud of the Amicable Society, in which it solicited members who were ill, perhaps with higher fees for membership. It is up to you to determine if this is a case of murder. You must now deliberate and inform me when you have reached a conclusion. I will dismiss everyone from this chamber so you may discuss the matter.”

Thetford turned to the witnesses. “Thank you for your time today. You are dismissed.” He looked to the gallery. “Please remove yourselves to the common room.”

A constable moved to open the door as people stood. The witnesses began to file out, though a few loitered as the spectators departed.

Tilda noted that Clement was still standing in the corner, furiously scrawling in his notebook.

“I can’t see that it will take them long to decide this was a murder,” Maxwell said softly as they prepared to leave.

“Particularly since it seems Thetford was able to identify the murder weapon,” Tilda said. “And the fact that it’s missing.”

Hadrian saw the gleam of anticipation in Tilda’s eyes. She always looked like that when they uncovered important clues in an investigation.

“The missing murder weapon was perhaps the best piece of evidence to come from the inquest,” Maxwell said.

Whilst that may be true with regard to the murder—which was, of course, the point of the inquest—Hadrian found the testimony regarding the society’s operations much more helpful. “There was a great deal of good information about the society’s membership practices. I wish Thetford had asked Furnier aboutthe records that show what Cardy paid weekly. I think there must be a missing ledger.”

“Are you going to ask Nevill and Furnier about that?” Tilda asked.

“I will try,” Hadrian replied. “I’m going to attempt to catch them now.”

Tilda briefly touched his sleeve. “Be cautious. They are agitated and may not take your inquiry kindly.”

Hadrian nodded. “I understand.”

They moved into the common room where people milled about. Many went directly to the bar, including Nevill. Hadrian decided to start with him. “I’m going to speak with Nevill first.”

“We’ll speak with the Furniers,” Tilda said, inclining her head toward the center of the common room where Mr. and Mrs. Furnier stood.

Hadrian hastened to Nevill, who held a pint of ale. He’d just taken a sip as Hadrian arrived.

“Afternoon, Nevill,” Hadrian said. “I hope the inquest wasn’t too much of an ordeal.”

Nevill exhaled. “It was unnerving. It seemed as though the coroner thought I could be a suspect in Phelps’s murder.” Nevill shuddered. “He was a good friend. And he was committed to the success of the Amicable Society. That blasted Eaton took advantage.” The color left Nevill’s face, perhaps because he just recalled the man had also been murdered. He took a long drink of his ale.

“I do hope the society will continue,” Hadrian said. “It provides a good service, and I’m confident you and Mr. Furnier will ensure it operates without further violations of policy.”

“We don’t really know what happened for sure,” Nevill said quickly and with a touch of agitation. “Nor can we ask Phelps or Eaton.”

Hadrian wanted to argue that Mrs. Cardy had told them, but he didn’t want to anger the man when he was trying to curry his favor. “That is a shame. I hope you won’t think me too forward, but I wonder if I might help. It seems the society is in need of a canvasser, and I would offer myself for the position.”

Nevill’s features twitched with surprise. “You would? But you have a splendid job at a gentlemen’s club. Why would you want to leave that?”